


What would you ask of death?

by Drunk Sylvanas (the_ShadowCreature)



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Angst, Dark Fantasy, Drama, F/F, Not really romantic, Sorta Happy Ending, World Transfer, blurring of fantasy and reality, extreme OOC, horror because Sylvanas is creepy, intended to be crack fluff but my brain happened, lore-trolling, the Place between Realms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2017-04-27
Packaged: 2018-10-24 17:18:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10746279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_ShadowCreature/pseuds/Drunk%20Sylvanas
Summary: You are just a regular girl who occasionally enjoys the privilege of writing, oh and you’re very gay for Sylvanas. Azeroth is your wonderland of escape from the real world, until you find your dreams plagued with the Banshee Queen, and you discover that nothing is all they seem.





	What would you ask of death?

**Trigger Warning:** Death, implied anxiety and depression and implied suicide. Rated M for over-dramatising of feelings and a self-pitying protagonist. Proceed with caution.

* * *

The great spiral you fell into led to somewhere at the bottom of a tunnel by the rocky surface you fell onto, you couldn’t see anything, only the sound of dripping water accompanies you in the utter darkness.

You didn’t remember how many times you’ve visited this dream; stranded in the middle of a great desert with no life, no boundaries no matter where which direction you went, but this time it seemed to be different, when a spiral of violet glow appeared beneath your feet and sent you to a dark cave you could not possibly climb out of. If investing hours of your free time on a game taught you anything, a spiral underneath your feet never leads to anything good.

Spotting a shimmer of light in the distance, you edged towards the source of light only to slip and totter backwards on the rim of a flooded rock, your arms flew wide to brace yourself against the fall, only for your hips to collide harshly with the rough surface. ‘Anyone there? Hello?’ You called out aloud, but the only reply that came was your own voice echoing down the cavern walls.

A familiar yet strange figure came into focus, tall and imposing as you imagined but there was something enthralling about her at the same time, she posed with an air of power and authority with the ghost of a bow slung across her back, and as she came closer, her angular elven features became clearer illuminated with the necromantic red glow of her eyes and something that glew with a white light - a lantern perhaps, that she was holding in her hands. Sylvanas Windrunner, unlike you, moved towards you with an unearthly grace, as if she was gliding across the surface of the wet stones beneath.

You gulped, your heart leaped and drummed in your ears as you marvelled at the beauty of the woman before you.

Her eyes find yours, pinning you on the spot and time (if there was even time) froze, everything paused, there was only the two of you. ‘You wrote these delusional fantasies about me?’ The sound of her voice never failed to make you shiver.

Only then did you recognised the source of strange glow radiating from Sylvanas, the unplugged monitor of a laptop - your laptop. There was no anger between the lines of her expression, but curiosity and even mild amusement in her arched long eyebrow.

Rashes of heat rushed to your cheeks and you nearly blurted that you weren’t the only one who did, but you would rather have her think that you were unique. ‘Yes, my lady.’ You chuckled and decided to tempt your fate. ‘I’m glad that you like my… delusional fantasies. I exist to entertain you.’

She grimaced at your tone, her ears flicked and eyes narrowed, her silver brows that were evenly apart weaved into a line as if deciding whether you were insulting her. ‘Entertain me?’ A glint of annoyance flashed in the Banshee Queen’s eyes but she didn’t raise her voice, at least not yet. ‘You believe this piece of garbage would amuse me? I have no time for sentiments that mean nothing to me, just like you.’

Your heart sank and your stomach dropped, not knowing how to feel about the woman of your dreams degrading the one of the few things you took pride in; and deep down you knew her words were only a projections of your own feelings because you were your worst critic. Frustration stirred up inside you, all of your pent up insecurities and the discouragements they rain upon you rolled into the moment.

‘You know what? I write for myself because I enjoy writing, your majesty, and you're not real, I am just having a dream about you criticizing me. Nobody, not even you, can dictate what it’s worth.’’

The image of Sylvanas melded into the surrounding darkness, the monitor - your laptop that she had been holding shattered at your feet, and the last glow of light was snuffed out.

***

Darkness dissipates and the cave around you shifted to the comfort within the four walls of your bedroom; your heart nearly jumped out of your chest when you noticed the monitor of your laptop lying at your feet, cracks now splitting the surface of the screen. You recoiled from your laptop as if it was a snake spitting venom at you.

It was only a dream, the rational part of you argued, you probably dropped your laptop after uploading your school project right before the deadline. But a larger part of you was foolish enough to stay a victim of your own imaginations.

And so you swore to never venture to the world of Azeroth again, your life fell back into the routine of showing up in classes, playing relationship counselor to your friends, and reading up on any non-fiction book until your eyelids felt heavy and darkness overtake you. You were afraid to sleep, afraid of that suffocating pressure on your chest and the intense fear that courses through your veins when the thought of your mental health popped up.

Sometimes your mind wandered to the broken old laptop now lying under your library of books, you found yourself craving the comfort of imagination, when reality sent you over rollercoasters rides of hope and dismay, you longed to be the hero riding into battle to the hell and back in the name of her queen, again.

When your control slipped and you dwelled on the plaguing thought of your ‘delusional fantasy’ too long, a sudden chill passed through your spine, and you felt the hallucination of red eyes boring into your skin.

(You hated yourself for not being strong enough, one of your many flaws, for all the chances missed and time wasted because you wouldn’t give up on this addiction even when it started to harm you.)

One day you realised that reality is more haunting than the hallucination of Sylvanas Windrunner when you were clad in black and white, standing helplessly clutching a bundle of flowers in tight fists amidst a bunch of people you didn’t know.

The monks were chanting something you didn’t understand a word of, the clunks of bells felt like a reminder of your own mortality, and smoke filled tainted the air with a sorrowful grey; it stung your eyes.

‘It’s alright, your friend is in a better place now.’ Nothing was alright.

Their consoles stung even more because you didn’t cry for your friend, you wept for yourself. You felt like the murderer even when you knew it was cancer that took her life because you didn’t deserve to be her friend; you were nothing but a spineless coward, one of those people who whispered and pointed behind her back because she looked different, who wouldn’t want to be seen around her unless your options ran out. But the lump in your throat refused to let you confess to your atrocities.

‘Would you ever forgive me for being an asshole to you for three years?’

‘No.’

The conversation that never happened was all that remained as the ashes of regret settled on the sea of melancholy.

***

‘What happens after… after death?’

You found yourself slipping in the seductive prison of your imagination you swore you would never return to.

And the queen materialised before you again, as imposing and fearsome as she had been the last time, but her gaze was less murderous and her beautiful elven features less harsh. The cave seemed brighter too, the outline of the rocks visible to your human eyes even as there were no illuminations.

Of course you knew Sylvanas’ story by heart, when she died and was torn from peace by the bastard Arthas that you killed numerous times just for the sake of it.

But she told you anyway, and somehow it calmed the raging storm of emotions within you, even if you didn’t know if you believed in afterlife, that your friend might be able to ascend to whatever paradise after the rough battles she had been through, and the feelings of abandonments she must have suffered from ignorant teenagers who didn’t understand (or two-faced little shits, like you). You hope that she’s found the happiness she deserved in life.

‘In the end, death claims us all,’ Sylvanas enunciated, there was something about her voice that you didn’t dare to think of as softness. You didn’t even know that you had been crying until she cupped your tear-stained cheeks and you felt as if your face was buried in a pile of snow.

***

Time seemed to pass slower for you as it was for the others outside the sanctuary of your room; you heard your mother complaining about father coming home late again, and your father starting a debate about the economy with himself. It was as if the barrier between you were more than a door and a thin wall that you felt like they were more distant than the illusion of Sylvanas you conjured in your head. Sometimes they would come by your door, knocking on the door if only to remind you that their lives went on without you.

‘Quit playing video games and open up that damn door so I can clean your room!’

‘Dinner is ready.’

‘C’mon you can’t be that sad about your friend, can you?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ You screamed back, your voice sounded weaker and more tired than you remembered. They were right about you not being one to grieve, and you weren’t grieving either, you felt nothing but numbness, you felt like a hollow shell walking the earth as if you had been the one who died.

***

You pondered at the pond of black, lifeless water bathing your bare feet, watching the skin and flesh wearing away and decay travelling up your legs thoughtfully. ‘Is this really a dream, my queen, or is this reality and my life merely a dream?’

Sylvanas said nothing, but you saw the corner of her dark lips lifted slightly.

***

A thought of your family outside your walls passed your mind as you laid yourself on bed. Just one last visit, you decided, you would allow yourself to escape into the world of your own making once more, then you would stop wallowing in self-pity and tomorrow -

\- ‘I will forget about everything and get out of my room and everything will be fine,’ you told yourself.

The unbridled laughter of your little sister was the last thing you heard before you slipped into oblivion.

***

A familiar face came into focus, the first thing you saw was a pair of hooded red eyes on pale blue skin watching over you, something that you have grown accustomed to. She wasn’t wearing a hood, her elven ears were visible through long platinum hair flowing freely pass her shoulder guards, somehow Sylvanas Windrunner managed to be even more breathtaking than she already was.

Oh, except you couldn’t really breath, but it wasn’t the terrible tightness you used to feel that prevent air passage into your lungs.

Only then you noticed the winged creatures glowing with an ethereal blue light encircling the two of you, the Val’kyr, and that the place seemed to be a graveyard, numerous headstones laid disorganised around you. Your pallid skin now resembled the CGI characters on every zombie movie, but your body parts were at least intact and your fingers didn’t grow into claws like the Forsaken. Millions of questions flooded your head - were you dead? Or was it just another dream? And if you were  dead, how did you get here?

‘Sylvanas? What… happened?’ Your voice wasn’t your own either, it sounded dead, and foreign to your own ears.

Sylvanas caressed your face in a similar manner as she did in your not-really-dream, a gesture that you found comforting now she no longer felt cold. ‘You just woke from a nightmare,’ she whispered, pushing a piece of stringy hair from your face; her face inched closer to yours, your eyes widened and you made a surprised sound in your throat when you realised she was about to do. ‘Shh… your lady takes care of you now.’

 

**Author's Note:**

> So basically Sylvanas gets mad at the interpretation of her in a fanfic and pays the poor writer a visit. I originally intended to write something as a gift to @Shinebi_san inspired by the little rp we did in the comment section of her work, but things took an unexpected turn when I was writing the second part. As it turns out to be the most personal piece I've written, anonymous comments are turned off.


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